


Crossroads

by Teaotter



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Bad Cajun accents, F/M, Implied Incest, Unfinished and Discontinued, crazy love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/pseuds/Teaotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-telling of Bella and Remy's wedding day, from canon. Except I didn't get all the way through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroads

Bella blinked sleepily into the darkness. The pre-dawn gloom cast shadows around her room - but not the one lounging in the curtains of her four-post bed.

"Last chance, cher," Remy whispered as he crawled bonelessly up the bed.

She let go of the knife under her pillow and rolled onto her back. She should have known it was Remy - no one else could get so close without waking her. The sheet, pinned by the weight of his knees as he straddled her, slid down her bare skin as she moved. She didn't bother to pull it back. "Bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, cher."

He laughed and slid one hand over her breast, dropping light, teasing kisses along her cheek and neck. "Run away wit Remy," he breathed against her skin. "We be married real quiet. Not this circus, eh?"

"Remy," she murmurred in protest. "You know it seals the peace. Makes us one Guild again." She grinned wickedly, pulling his shirt undone. "Keeps Papa from killing you."

"Your Papa, he not the one that worry Remy."

She didn't bother to answer him, just sank her teeth hard into the side of his neck. She liked the way it made him gasp. They weren't going to argue about Julian again - and his frock coat would hide the mark anyway. She pushed his shirt down his shoulders, sliding her fingers over his hot skin.

"Run away wit me," he muttered again, a little more desperately, strong hands pushing the sheet aside. "Someplace warm." He stroked one finger up and down her side, and she shivered. "Get a boat. Go dancing every night. Not this here."

His voice was soft and dreamy. As if the two of them could ever run away from the Guild, even for a while.

"I _want_ this." She growled into his shoulder. "We're the best, Remy. They'll have to see that." She knew he wasn't interested in the politics of the Guild, didn't care if they knew how good he was. But it was all she had to give him. He might not love her, but he needed her, even if he didn't know it.

But he turned his head away, shifted away from her skin a little. His withdrawal made her scratch her nails down his back, not caring if she drew blood. He _would_ look at her.

She grabbed his shoulders and rolled them over. "You just want to get out of marrying me." She pinned him with her thighs, hands working his jeans open. "Keep me on the side, so you can run around-- "

He laughed in quiet gasps and helped her shove his clothes away. "Remy never run around on you, Bella--"

She leaned down and bit his chin. "Lying dog. You chase after anything on two legs--"

He laughed again, but he sounded worried, which was better. He pulled her head down with one hand and twisted her nipple with the other, hard enough to make her want to scream. Hard enough to make her collapse against him. "Only chasing you, cher," he whispered in her ear.

"Damn you," she whispered back, voice low and raw to keep from yelling. She wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked it hard. "Anne-Marie." That was the first one he slept with, after the banns were posted. After he'd been promised to _her_.

He grunted and jumped in her hand, rolled under her like a wave.

"Jeanne Chouinard." She stroked in time with the names. "Etienne, Nerisse--"

"--nothing to me. Chere," he panted, bucking up into her hand. She could keep him going like this for an hour, switching her rhythm whenever he got close.

"Claudette Lavine. Rene Amineaux--"

He grabbed her head in both hands and kissed her, licking and biting at her mouth until she couldn't breathe, just the little hitching gasps that made him crazy. The shadows spun around again until he was on top of her, pressing her into the bed. He pushed her hands above her head.

"Rene-Phillipe," he groaned. Anne-Marie's brother, and her revenge for Remy's infidelity.

Remy shifted over her until he could just slip inside. She waited for the first push - he always felt so good - but he held still until she twisted against his hold on her, then started a stuttering rhythm of his own, one he knew could keep her on edge. She kept rocking back at him, trying to make it harder, faster.

"Jean-Michel. Lamont Kane. Nerisse--" And he was laughing at her, but it felt so good. He knew she'd seduced Nerisse, he'd been watching her--

"Maybe Remy should worry you be running around," he muttered, still thrusting into her.

She pulled his head down so her lips were next to his ear. "Only chasing you, cher," she mocked, and his muttered curse sent her over the edge, biting the other side of his neck to stop her scream. She could feel him thrust again and shake, muffling his own moan into the pillow.

By the time her heart had slowed, he'd slid next to her on the bed. "You a sick, sick woman, cher," he laughed softly.

His skin was hot and sticky against her, and she suddenly couldn't stop touching him, running her hands up and down his body and pressing herself closer and closer to him. "Marry Bella, cher," she whispered in his ear, and she knew she was begging, but she couldn't seem to stop. "Don't leave her alone up there today. Please, cher--"

"Shh, shh," he murmurred, wrapping his arms tight around her, holding her still until the worst of the frenzy passed out of her. The he tucked her head firmly under his chin, and she made herself relax against him. She let him hold her close, knowing he had to leave before the sun came up fully, knowing it would be easier if she was asleep when he left.

"Remy gonna be there, cher," he murmurred into her hair, running a hand soothingly down her back. "Not leavin wit'out you."

******

Morning light came through the shutters, lending its warmth to the deep mahogany of the chapel's old changing room. Soon the bells would toll, calling the Guild to gather for this happy occasion. Soon the ancient organ would sing, pronouncing its somber joy at the first wedding of Assassin and Thief in more than a hundred years.

Because she had no sisters, Bella had enlisted Julian to help her dress. By long-neglected tradition, an Assassin bride wore the tools of her trade, that her husband would treat her with respect and devotion. Her brother had placed the brightly jeweled pins in her hair, fastened the dozens of tiny eyelets that closed the back of her dress and hid the tiny throwing knives half-sewn into the fabric.

Standing in front of the mirror with him in his old-fashioned gold brocade, they looked so much like an eighteenth-century portrait.

"Cher? We look like Henri and Louise Boudreaux," she murmurred, surprised.

He put one arm around graciously her waist and drew her hand up to his other shoulder, tracing his fingers lightly over her lace gloves. In this pose, their resemblance to that couple's wedding portrait was striking.

His fingers found the slight softness of the bandage on her arm and paused. The faint tightening of his mouth was the only sign of his anger. "This is new."

"Samuel came to the LeBeau house." It hadn't been the first attempt on Remy's life, and it was unlikely to be the last. Samuel had been Julian's childhood friend, and her regret had made her slow.

Julian's hand trembled against her arm. "If he had marked the blade --"

She waved the thought away. "As if Samuel could take me."

"You shouldn't protect him." As he spoke, he wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. She held him as fiercely. If Remy could only see her brother as she did, he would never beleive Julian meant them harm.

"It's a brave new world we're making." She caught his eye in the mirror. He had said that to her, when he had proposed the plan. "Some people would rather live in the past."

"I've changed my mind." He muffled his words against her neck. "He can't have you."

She laughed at his little joke, but he didn't let her go. He rubbed his face into her bare shoulder and the line of her neck, his hands stroking the lace of her bodice over and over. He wouldn't let her slow his hands, so she caught his face with one hand and pressed it against hers until her cheekbone ached.

"Mon ange," she whispered. He was so close his eyelashes tickled her cheek as he opened his eyes. "This day is your glory. I am only la fleche in your hand --"

"My Belle Morte --" He let her turn to face him, one hand still pressed against his cheek, still clasped close to him. As she slid her other hand up, she felt the weight of a gun under his shoulder, and it warmed her to think that he would break tradition to protect her.

"When Monsieur makes you King," she breathed, even here refusing to think that it would happen any way but at his word, "I will be your Ace."

His hands clenched and unclenched against her waist. "Bella, mon coeur --"

"Julian, ami..." He seemed so distressed, and she didn't know what to say to calm him. She leaned more fully against him, let him hold her up. Maybe if she showed him -- "Tell Papa to sit down."

He pushed her away abruptly, but gently. "I told you before, I will not give you away."

"Julian, please. This is my wedding. The happiest day of my life?" She got a small smile from him at that, and she caught it with one of her own. "I want you on my arm. I can't stand that they think we're at odds, not today. Please, cher."

He sighed, and she grinned. "I can deny you nothing, ma petite." He stepped back, once again the golden shadow. "I will walk with you, and they may think what they like."

His face softened, but the darkness did not entirely leave his eyes as he kissed her cheek. "When he lifts the veil from your face," he whispered, "he will be the luckiest man alive."


End file.
